The Sunflower Spirit
by HABanime
Summary: A lonely sunflower during wartime spirit digs through the soil, discovering many fantastic things.  But some things are better left unearthed.
1. The Little Sunflower Spirit

**Author's Notes: I know there are other stories to do, but I could not resist.**

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It was a cold, sunny day in Russia. The day had just begun, and dew was still glimmering on the leaves.

And with every morning, the plants were waking up.

The spirits of the flowers were opening their petals, and the keepers of the gardens were preparing to tend to their flowers.

One sunflower spirit in particular was awakening to a very sad day.

Though he did not know it.

For you see, the date was September 30th, 1942.

Now, the spirits of the flowers do not see a conflict between countries, they do not see the victories, they do not see the glory.

They see the poison of war.

They feel it seep into their soil.

They taste the pain, the fire, the blood.

And our little sunflower spirit experienced this firsthand.

His keeper of the garden was dead.

The little sunflower spirit stood beside her body, still warm, watching her. Waiting for her to wake up.

She never did.

After several years, the little sunflower grew up, into an adult sunflower spirit.

But he did not mingle with the other flowers. Without his keeper of the garden, he forgot the language of the tamed plants. The sunflower spirit only knew the tongue of the wildflowers that lived scattered across the forests and plains of Russia.

He was lost.

And he was alone.

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**Author's Notes: Not much to say here.**

**Uh.**

**Sup.**


	2. The first day, the second, and the third

**Author's Notes: I'm alive! :)**

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It was fall.

The trees were losing their leaves, already red, and preparing to sleep through the winter.

The sunflower spirit was all alone.

The wildflowers he usually spent time with were already asleep, seeds safe below ground.

Now, the sunflower spirit was very bored, as he was not quite ready to sleep yet.

The sunflower spirit thought, "What can I do to pass the time?" He looked upon the earth, almost frozen from the cold, and decided that he wanted to dig.

For the earth holds many secrets and stories long forgotten by the humans.

He extended his roots, gently feeling around the dirt, feeling the insects crawl and feeling loose coins in the topsoil. But the sunflower spirit felt something new in the earth.

He felt something inorganic in the soil, something from the human world.

He grasped the object with his roots, bringing it to the surface.

On the first day, the sunflower spirit found a pair of glasses.

The sunflower spirit was intrigued. He knew their purpose, but he had never held a pair in his own hands before. They were broken, but one lens was still intact. He peered through it, but it only made the world look foggy and unclear.

He placed them in the heart of his sunflowers, to keep them safe.

The sunflower spirit was both terrified and fascinated by his discovery.

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On the second day, the sunflower spirit found a jacket.

This puzzled him.

He did not recognize the jacket from any of the citizens that passed by his garden, nor the soldiers that marched by in rows of guns.

A large, "50" adorned the back. Nimble hands explored the coat, running through the fur lining near the collar and ghosting over the worn leather on the exterior.

The sunflower spirit discovered a small tag on the inside of the jacket. He opened it, reading the foreign letters, "MADE IN AMERICA".

His keeper of the gardens had taught him the letters and words of the human world.

He remembered her sad, nostalgic smile when she taught him Russian, and her hopeful eyes when she taught him English.

The spirit placed the jacket next to his flowers, folding it as neatly as he could.

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On the third day, the sunflower spirit found a gun.

The object was in perfect condition, still polished and shiny, only marred by specks of dirt.

He turned the gun over in his hands, admiring the sleek design and sharp corners. The sunflower spirit had seen the soldiers use guns before, but not quite like this one.

Imitating the soldiers, he pulled at the gun until a small compartment opened, spilling forth a small treasure of metal cylinders.

Bullets?

The sunflower spirit was familiar with what bullets could do.

He cautiously placed them in his flower bed, the pointed side facing the sky. He then placed the gun beside its bullets.

The spirit quelled the unpleasant feeling in his gut.

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**Author's Notes: These were a bit short, so I decided to clump them together. I don't think you'd appreciate getting like fifty emails that I've updated this story with like five words.**

**3**

**I love you all :B**


	3. Delight, Horror, Despair

**Author's Notes: Oh broken glass is not a food, so don't you listen to some dude who says "put cheese on broken glass and make a SAND-AH-WICHH!"**

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On the fourth day, the sunflower spirit found dog tags.

He held the glimmering object by its chain, examining the small, thin sheets of metal imprinted with the words, "ALFRED F. JONES" in blocky letters.

The sunflower spirit opened his mouth and summoned his dusty voice. Though he could not speak to the other garden flowers, he could still hear himself.

"All…frreh, deh. Fff. Ja-Joh…neees."

The words tasted stale and _wrong_ upon his lips, but he kept trying until he could utter the name with ease.

The sunflower was excited.

Who was this Alfred F. Jones?

He must have liked gardening. Maybe he could be his keeper of the gardens!

This brought a smile to the spirit's face.

He pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind.

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On the fifth day, the sunflower spirit found a knife.

His stomach twisted as he pulled the knife from the earth, still coated in dry blood.

The spirit wanted to run, but he could not.

The knife stared back at him.

He saw his keeper of the gardens.

Bloody and still.

The sunflower spirit threw the knife as hard as he could. It flew through the air with a whistle before embedding itself in the trunk of the maple tree.

The tree screamed, loud and scared and anguished before again succumbing to the hazy, dead sleep of winter.

The sunflower spirit slept beside the grave of his keeper of the garden.

This time, the dark thoughts would not leave him.

He did not sleep.

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On the sixth day, the sunflower spirit found Alfred F. Jones.

He was young, maybe nineteen summers old.

The boy's hair was the color of sunshine and hope and smiling.

His uniform, which was not like those the sunflower spirit had seen in the streets, was stained dark brown.

It wrapped around the boy's middle like a blanket, dried and flaking.

Dirt smeared his face and skin, detracting from his smooth features.

The spirit gently ran a hand along his face, cataloguing the shape and texture.

He peered into the boy's eyes, large and started.

They were grey.

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><p>On the seventh day, the sunflower spirit dug a grave.<p>

He dug it beside his keeper of the gardens.

The spirit carefully laid the body in the hold, just like the humans did.

The grey eyes stared up at him.

He looked away as he pushed dirt over the body.

On the surface, he placed the bullets in the dirt, forming a circle. Inside that, he placed the gun and the dog tags.

Lastly, he gently placed the jacket over the head of the grave.

The sunflower spirit began to cry.

It tasted like rain and sadness and loneliness and he couldn't stop the tears from running down his face.

He screamed for his keeper of the gardens.

He screamed for sunshine.

He screamed for the dead and he screamed for the living.

His tears fell from his cheeks and the soil took them away, as it took everything away.

The sunflower spirit cried until the sky was dark and his throat was cracked, and could only sleep when he could no longer scream his way awake.

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**Author's Notes: Oh dear it appears all of my stories tend to take rather dark turns, don't they?**

**See when I try to write a fun story, it ends up like crack.**

**If I try to write a serious story, everyone dies the end.**

**T-T**

**p.s. and if you couldn't tell, here are the characters**

**Sunflower Spirit: Ivan Braginsky**

**Keeper of the Gardens: Yekaterina**

**Maple Tree Spirit: Matthew Williams (i'm sorry i'm a terrible person)**


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